BEGIN PART TWO
"You know, Emmet," Hyacinth started before taking a sip of wine, "I really did enjoy this meal."
"Thank you, Hyacinth. I worked really hard on it." Emmet replied.
"Yes, I suppose you worked harder on this meal than you did on that song." She spoke those words clearly, though it felt as if the words should have been whispered. It wasn't as if Hyacinth understood social rules.
"I beg your pardon," Emmet said, growing miffed.
"I guess… Your song didn't have anything impactful." She spoke airily,
"I—"
"You really mustn't fret. I will help you to write something palatable, enjoyable."
"Hyacinth, what exactly was wrong with—"
"I, dearest Emmet, I am a songstress, as you said yourself. For me, the words need to form a complete thought that makes sense not only to me, but to everybody who will be enchanted."
"I—" She interrupted him.
"You may say that my voice may be enchantment enough, and I do admit that it may be one of the most powerful tools on this side of the Channel, but your words must lull the audience into my voice. Just think, if you wrote something more, shall I say, pleasant, then you may find it easier for all to digest."
"That was my point, Hyacinth," he said grinding his teeth, "It's not supposed to be pleasant, it's supposed to be somber and morose. It's a sad theme we're covering."
"I understand that, but my misgivings about the quality of this piece remain."
"Quality!?" He half asked and half screamed. Emmet rose from his seat. He was ready to garrote her with one of the wires from the piano. Oh, I almost forgot, Liz and Richard were sitting at the table. The only parts of them that were in motion were their eyes. Those two pairs of eyes drifted back and forth between the arguing parties the way spectators watched the ball at a tennis match.
She, of course did not hear or did not heed his tone or the fact that he was standing menacingly, "Yes, Emmet. You are much smarter than what you wrote."
"Madam," he said stiffly, "I worked for hours and hours on that. You only sung a piece of it."
"Oh," she scoffed, "I did hope that I would not have to sing any more of that."
"Fear not, I will not implore you any further."
"Good, I don't think Richard would like that. He is a man of scruples." She spoke from her high horse.
"I am sure he is," Emmet made his way to the refrigerator, "In fact, I think of him when I am trying to think my way out of sticky situations. I think of him when I need to make big decisions."
"He is good, isn't he?" Hyacinth asked rhetorically, "He's very forceful and executive."
"Yes, indeed," Emmet agreed mindlessly while reaching into the fridge."
"I tremble to think about how many women covet my Richard."
"I wouldn't know anything about that," Emmet said as he produced a carton from the fridge.
"I am sure you would. You run an amateur operatic society. I'm quite sure that there are some women and men who would want Richard."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Well I'm sure you must have some homosexuals in that society. In fact, most of the men must be homosexual." She was prattling.
"No, no, no."
"Oh, yes, yes, yes, the gentlemen must have such fun. I suppose many of them must have divorced their wives to have fun with each other."
Quoth Emmet, "Where is all of this coming from?" He was exasperated as he swallowed the whole glass of orange juice he had set before himself.
"It's nothing, nothing. That's just what I see," she said, "And don't worry I know you're not a homosexual. You're too in love with me."
Richard rolled his eyes. Elizabeth bit her tongue to keep from laughing.
"I-"
"I see the glances, you avert your eyes when I notice, you try to keep it subtle. I do think that with most your subtlety would be enough trick most, but I have aptitudes. I have an aptitude for reading people and their emotion. I have an aptitude for civility, and I have an aptitude of expression."
"I am quite sure you are skilled in several areas, but I must ask you to respect the members of my group. Miranda, Jane, Diana, Morris, Edward, Rupert, Derek, and all the others didn't deserve that abuse. My dear lady, I think sometimes you underestimate your most profound effect on people."
"That wasn't abuse Emmet, it was truth. I'm sure Edward, Rupert, Morris, and Derek aren't married."
"They most certainly are, in fact yesterday was Morris' nineteenth anniversary." Emmet spoke truthfully, even though he knew how stupid this was getting.
She pivoted in the most painful way possible, "I suppose you wish that your marriage was still that strong."
Elizabeth interjected, finding strength to defend her little brother "Hyacinth, I think that's inappropriate."
"No, it is not. Think about it this way. You have divorced your wife. You have—"
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Emmet screamed, a thing he almost never did. "You are a sick, sick woman. You are delusional. You have delusions of grandeur. You walk around as if you have millions upon millions of pounds, but we all know that you subsist on Richard's pension. WE ALL know that that your so-called Royal Doulton is fake! We all know that the airs you put on are so obnoxious that all sorts of people run away from you. Let me tell you something, Hyacinth. I don't know if you ever heard this but you are a stuck-up, pompous ass who no one wants to be around."
"AND THAT, EMMET, IS THE PASSION YOU NEED TO PUT INTO YOUR MUSIC," she huffed, moaning the words haphazardly, or as she would call it, "singing".
"What the f—"
"Emmet, I know that you are a powerful composer. You play beautifully," she stood up, reaching for his piano fingers, she grabbed them, and they were trembling, "See that quiver? That is the passion I want to see. That is the emotion, I want to hear." She removed her soft hand from his and reclaimed her seat with a smug grin on her face.
"Hyacinth you are the most antagonizing woman on Earth," his anger grew anew upon the smile on her face, "Do you realize that people fear you and hate you?"
"You could write that into your opera or whatever it is you're working on." She looked through him as if he were composed only of glass.
"Hyacinth, listen." He implored, the stress obvious on his face and in his already shaky voice.
"Yes, I am attentive."
"What is your name?"
"Hyacinth Bouquet." She answered airily.
"No, it is not, madam. B-U-C-K-E-T spells 'bucket' not bouquet. 'Bouquet' is spelled B-O-U-Q-U-E-T."
"But the name is of French origin. Bless you, you must have forgotten." She laughed.
"It is not. Richard is as English as English gets."
"Emmet, I really don't know what is wrong with you. You cook a good meal, then you get your vigour back and now you are focused on my surname. You are the most interesting man in the world." She sounded genuinely confused and impressed.
"You are generally dense," he said aloud looking into her eyes.
She shuddered only slightly, before her eyes started to glisten in hope and excitement.
"You know what, Emmet, I thank you. Woman these days are way to shallow, thin and bland. Calling me dense is probably the best compliment these days. You cannot see through me or take a glance and figure me out. All have lost in their attempts to change me."
Elizabeth's face would have gone into the dictionary under the definition of the word 'stupefied'.
Emmet looked swiftly at Richard. Richard looked as if he had been shot. He was shot in a way. It seemed that Hyacinth had just performed her first countermove against all of his efforts. Richard also realized that his eyes were growing weary of darting back and forth. Emmet wasn't sure how to feel as became acutely aware of a terrible orangey aftertaste in his mouth.
"I mean density, is unchangeable. A gallon of water will always weigh the same."
"Density does change with heat," Emmet remembered from chemistry,
"Ah, so it does, if you boil water the stem goes everywhere sucking all of the cool dry comfortable air in a room. Freeze water and it grows denser. Matter cannot be destroyed."
The room grew silent. There was no response to that. None.
Hyacinth sucked all of the oxygen out of the room, like a fire. The silence that followed a Hyacinth conversation was never so terrible and palpable as it was now. The cold leftovers of Beef Wellington remained on the table. The half finished drinks remained still as pools untouched by humans at any point. The sound of the birds chirping rang loud and reverberated throughout the house. Elizabeth sat stark mute and Richard only blinked as if he was trying to figure out exactly what happened. Emmet was still seething deep into the recesses of his mind. His anger no longer gave any hint of its oh so real existence through his face or any other part of his body. It was internalized no, and that when it was most dangerous.
"Hyacinth," Richard's voice started, "I have something to tell you…
END CHAPTER
The story is going to end in soon. Thanks to all the loyal readers and reviewers and continue to do so. If I confused anyone/everyone again, it will all make sense when I am done. PM me if you have any questions and I will respond within 24 hours. 'Til next time…
-Where'n'why